


A Hindering Hand

by collectivefandomstuff



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Comedy, Cussing, He's not in it that much, Humor, Jason Todd POV, Jason regrets all his life decisions, Platonic Relationships, Rated T for language, Steph is seething, Tim is done, because Jason, i guess, no beta we die like robins, the usual shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collectivefandomstuff/pseuds/collectivefandomstuff
Summary: When Dick is refused the opportunity to coddle Damian, he decides to lavish his other siblings with his questionably helpful assistance. They are palpably ungrateful.Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up.“Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-”“Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed him.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 19
Kudos: 514





	A Hindering Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so in my head RR and RH and totally reluctant friends. They are the middle children, after all.  
> Anyway, sorry for any mistakes and hope y'all like it :)

”You have got to be kidding me.”  
  
Jason stared at what _used to be_ his perfectly clean kitchen; now a hollowed out shell of its former self. Cabinet doors were thrown open, his carefully organised supplies haphazardly shuffled around. Every single counter and parts of the floor was covered in flour, cocoa, and something wet and heretofore unidentified. He didn’t even want to look closer at the stove or the sink, both filled with sticky, clearly misused, pots and pans. There was a smell hanging in the air, the same one that had set his inner alarm bells off when he entered the apartment: burnt sugar and something that smelled suspiciously like rotten fruit.  
  
Jason took a deep breath to stop himself from just whipping out his guns and shooting at the mess. It would be cathartic, but ultimately unhelpful. Instead, he fished his phone out of his front pocket and thumbed through his contacts.  
  
He got through two rings before the line opened.  
  
“He got you too?” Tim said on the other end. His tone reminded Jason of Bruce, which was usually a clear indication that Tim was fucking _done_.  
  
“How can he be this useless?” Jason ground out.  
  
“He was raised by Alfred.”  
  
“So was I. And you.”  
  
“Fine. He was spoiled by Bruce.”  
  
“uh-huh,” Jason agreed, daring to move into his living room. Thankfully, the carnage hadn’t spread there, though there was an oven pan, placed strategically in the middle of his coffee table. The contains looked like what Jason imagined “dubious food” in Zelda looked like in real life.  
  
“I have to stop hanging out with you,” he told Tim.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I just made a video game reference in my head.”  
  
“Which game?”  
  
“Not the point.”  
  
“I mean-” Tim began, but before he got any further into arguing why the specific game was “of import” to the discussion -fucking dweeb -Jason cut him off:  
  
“I’m going to kill him.”  
  
Tim was quiet for a moment.  
  
“What did he do exactly?”  
  
“ _Hi Little Wing_ ,” Jason recited from the note that had been stuck underneath his _brand new fucking oven pan_ Dick you bastard that was expensive. “ _I made you some brownies!_ ” Jason stopped to look closer at the brown sludge that he was pretty sure was stuck to the bottom of his _new pan. Martha herself recommended it, Dick goddammit_. “ _I hope they turned out all right! Don’t work too much! D._ ”  
  
There was a pause.  
  
“Did they turn out all right?” asked Tim.  
  
“No,” Jason gritted his teeth, “No, they did not.”  
  
“He’s really on a spree this week.”  
  
“Yeah?” Jason muttered absently, poking at the sludge with his gloved finger. It jiggled. Somehow, that made everything so much worse.  
  
“Mm,” Tim said, and Jason could hear the tapping of computer keys in the background which meant that he had about 30% of Tim’s attention. “He hit Cass and Steph a few days ago. I guess since Cass is staying there when she’s in town he thought it was two for one. Tried to do their laundry.”  
  
“Why haven’t _they_ killed him?”  
  
“They’re working on big drug bust. So, no time.”  
  
“Well _I_ have time.” Jason groused, already trying to reorganize his plans for the evening. He would need at least three hours to repair the damage Dick had done to his kitchen.  
  
“Good,” Tim said, his voice cold, “because so do I.”  
  
Jason stopped trying to figure out how many new appliances he would need to buy to focus for a moment.  
  
“What did he do to you?”  
  
Tim was silent for a long while, then:  
  
“He tried to clean my apartment.”  
  
Jason shuddered. On one hand, he understood the compulsion. His replacement’s usual idea “clean” was “nothing hazardous is currently growing somewhere”. Still, the only thing worse than Dick trying to clean was Bruce trying to clean. Or cook. Or do laundry. Or vacuum. The Batman he may be, but Jason had never met a more incompetent homemaker in his life. Once, Bruce had tried to dust a little and they had to call the fire department.  
  
“And?” He prompted.  
  
“He moved _everything_ ,” Tim said, deceptively calm, “and threw out at least thirty-four irreplaceable things.”  
  
Oh shit. There was a reason why Jason stomped down the urge to clean Tim’s apartment. He once moved an old magazine when the younger boy wasn’t even _there_ and the next day he got received three upset calls and a computer virus for his trouble.  
  
“He re-organised my desk. My cases. My clues.” Tim continued to rattle off. “And he didn’t even manage to clean properly. I’m pretty sure he tried to scrub my TV with vinegar.”  
  
Jason bit his lip to keep from laughing. Looks like Tim got it worse.  
  
“Shut up,” said Tim grouchily.  
  
“I didn’t say anything.”  
  
“You were laughing at me.”  
  
How-  
  
Jason’s hand clenched around the phone.  
  
“I told you to stop putting cameras in my apartment.”  
  
Tim snorted.  
  
“So find them and take them down. Think of it as _practice_ ,” he said, lilting the word “practice” in the same way Bruce usually did.  
  
“You’re such a creeper.”  
  
“Says the murderous crime lord.”  
  
“At least I’m not a stalker.”  
  
“Have you checked your bottom cabinets yet?”  
  
Jason stilled at the sudden change of subject.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Looks like the re-organising urge lived on.”  
  
Oh, he had better fucking not.  
  
Jason stepped back into his kitchen and, with the care of someone opening a bomb case, edged open the door to his pots- and pans cabinet. He came face to face with his toaster, nestled between a pasta drainer and three boxes of cereal that he had not owned this morning. It was the sugary shit too.  
  
“Son of a-”  
  
“I think he put your spatulas in the fridge,” Tim said cheerily. Jason was going to wring his little neck. Right after he had stomped on Dick until the unbridled rage in his chest went away.  
  
“This is why I don’t want any contact with this family for-”  
  
“You know why he’s doing this right?” Tim queried lightly. Jason frowned.  
  
“I don’t keep track of the family gossip, pretender. I have better things to do with my time.”  
  
Tim made an offended noise at being called “pretender”.  
  
“Fine. Then why don’t you try to make him stop and call me when he’s tried to clean your guns?”  
  
Jason rolled his eyes. The dramatics, honestly. Bruce 2.0.  
  
“Why _is_ he doing this, Tim?” He asked reluctantly.  
  
Tim sniffed.  
  
“Damian told Dick that he wasn’t needed at the moment, which was the little brat’s way of trying to get Dick to take some time to de-stress, but obviously Dick took this to mean that Damian has cast him aside and considers him a bad parental figure.”  
  
Jason spent a good few seconds rethinking the whole “moving back to Gotham” idea. He could just… leave and never talk to this insane family ever again. It was entirely doable. Just, one little call to Roy and hasta la vista you _absolute nutjobs_.  
  
He sighed.  
  
“So we have to talk to the demon child?” He asked tiredly.  
  
“Yeah pretty much.”  
  
“I still think my first plan was better.”  
  
“If you kill Dick, the family will never leave you alone.”  
  
That was a surprisingly good point. Dammit.  
  
“Can I punch him a little?”  
  
“I’d encourage it.”  
  
“Hey,” said Jason suspiciously, “just what are _you_ planning to do him exactly?”  
  
“Honestly?” Tim replied. “I’m going to send a false tip to the department of Agriculture, fabricate evidence, and make them recall his favourite cereal.”  
  
Jesus fucking Christ this family was a pizza bagel of crazy with a sociopath topping.

* * *

It took them a while to track down Robin during patrol, and when they managed to find him they were met with immediate resistance. Which, taking into consideration who they were, wasn’t all that surprising.  
  
“Calm down.” Red Hood said placatingly while he jumped out of range from Robin’s swords. “We just wanted to talk to you about N-”  
  
He dodged a batarang that was clearly aimed at his throat. Add psychopath topping to that pizza bagel.  
  
“Would you knock it _off_ ,” Red Robin snarled, spinning out of the way when Robin spun to aim a kick at his stomach.  
  
Hood seized the opportunity and darted in to restrain the tiny beast that, let’s be real, was absolute proof that Bruce _should not_ be allowed to procreate.  
  
Robin thrashed in his hold for a good three minutes before he finally settled down, glaring murderously at Red.  
  
“What do you want?” Robin spat. Even when Hood could feel him literally vibrating with supressed rage, he still kept perfect syntax. No abbreviations here. Little freak.  
  
“We need you to call N,” Red said. He looked a little ruffled and more than a little miffed.  
  
“I will do no such thing,” Robin sniffed.  
  
“Think again,” Hood said in his ear, letting his voice drop into a menacing tone.  
  
“Look,” Red Robin said. His hair was sticking up at the back after the struggle and he looked real fed up with this. Hood could relate. “N is running himself ragged trying to prove he’s a good parent or something and you need to make him quit before he injures himself.”  
  
Robin stilled.  
  
“What would Grayson be doing that would cause him such stress?”  
  
“He’s cooking,” Hood drawled.  
  
“And cleaning,” Red added.  
  
Robin’s whole body tensed.  
  
“I will take care of it.” He declared imperiously.  
  
Hood looked at Red, who shrugged. Yeah, good enough, I guess.

* * *

It was not good enough, he guessed, Jason realised as he took in what used to be his living room, but was now a cut out of a living room no one would ever willingly ”live” in from Garishly Tasteless Designs Magazine. He had his phone up and dialling before his eyes had even swept up the full length of the dirt-yellow curtains. It took a while to get the full effect of them, because he kept getting distracted by the _frills_ and the suspiciously Nightwing-esque pattern.  
  
“Yeah?” Tim answered on the other end of the line. His voice said he was knee deep in something and wasn’t really paying attention. Probably his revenge plan, which Jason was seeing in a whole new light right now.  
  
“He redecorated.” Jason’s voice was so low it was almost a growl.  
  
There was a pause.  
  
“It didn’t stop?” Tim sounded much more alert and aware this time.  
  
“No it did I just went out and bought this lime green couch myself from Blind, Bath and Beyond,” Jason snapped. He heard Tim groan into the receiver.  
  
“But we even talked to Damian,” his replacement whined. Like he had anything to complain about. His living room didn’t have- was that a fucking Billy the Bass? Jason was going to shove his guns so far-  
  
“I’m calling the brat,” Jason ground out before hanging up and redialling. Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up.  
  
“Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-”  
  
“Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed grimly.  
  
“He- you must be mistaken.”  
  
“Look, kid, there aren’t a lot of things I know, what with my not completing my formal education and all, but if there is one thing I will _never_ unlearn it’s how to spot Dick Grayson’s fucking taste in fabrics.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
No, you little shit. You don’t see. Jason was the one who was cursed with seeing this absolute monstrosity of a- was that _crystal?!_  
  
“You said you were handling it,” Jason reminded him, firmly putting his back to the living room. Looking at it was bad for his blood pressure.  
  
“I do not understand.” Damian said seriously. “I specifically told Grayson to stop bothering you and go back to Blüdhaven where he could be of use.”  
  
Oh. Oh Damian. Jason resisted the urge to smack the phone into his face. Sometimes Damian’s age and social inexperience really shone through. Jason took a deep breath to keep from screaming.  
  
“Listen, Damian.” Jason said carefully. “Dick is feeling a little neglected right now, and what he needs, what we _asked you to do_ , was to start hanging out with him again.”  
  
“-tt-” Damian was probably rolling his eyes. Jason could have Tim check later, he was sure the little creep had cameras in every building in the city. “That is preposterous!”  
  
“No,” Jason said dangerously, “it’s not. So now would you just _call him_ and tell him you need help with your homework or something?”  
  
It was truly a testament to Jason’s level of desperation that he was willing to be this nice and patient.  
  
“Grayson needs to rest-”  
  
“Just FUCKING CALL HIM!!”  
  
Ok, so there was a limit to that patience. Oh well, he was only human. Damian, however, apparently thought that this was one indignity too far because the call disconnected.  
  
Jason glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Porcelain figurines. Oh, how he missed the days when he was a big-name villain, and the only thing Dick did was fight him.  
  
In the corner, a cuckoo clock struck seven and a tiny robin popped out and chirped at him. Jason’s vision blurred with sickly green for a moment.  
  
Yeah, he was staying in a safe house tonight.

* * *

It took for days of no progress and Tim having his entire coffee-stash replaced with decaf (“ _cheap_ decaf, Jason. Low-level, _buy in bulk_ decaf.”) before they threw in the towel and went to the manor.  
  
The estate looked as menacing to him now as it had when Jason first saw it as a little kid from Crime Alley. It probably always would, no matter how many times he was back.  
  
If Tim was feeling apprehensive, it didn’t show. He just looked grumpy, like a particularly displeased cat. His replacement rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped back to cross his arms, frowning. He looked very intimidating. Like a squirrel with an anger management problem.  
  
The door swung open to reveal Steph, dressed in a t-shirt that Jason was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be a splotchy pale blue. Her jeans looked new.  
  
“He’s not here,” Steph told them in a biting tone.  
  
“Who?” Tim asked.  
  
“Dick. Though for the record we have to come up with a new name for him because ‘Dick’ is going to be _real_ ironic soon.”  
  
And whoa, Steph _did_ know how to look properly intimidating.  
  
“What’d he do?” Jason asked her.  
  
Stephanie stepped back to let them inside.  
  
“There was an incident with a waffle iron,” she said icily.  
  
“He tried to cook?” Tim guessed, taking off his shoes.  
  
“He tried to _laminate_.” Steph corrected. Tim grimaced.  
  
“Is Damian here?”  
  
Steph snorted.  
  
“Damian is useless. We need to strike back.” She lowered her voice, her eyes cold. “And strike _hard_.”  
  
Damn, if this continued, Dick wouldn’t even be allowed back into Gotham. Actually, yeah he would. Only Batman could bar people from entering Gotham, _apparently_. Because Bruce was only one with _any_ rights around here, that fucking-  
  
He was getting off subject. Also, not paying attention.  
  
“-alking to Dick,” Tim was saying, “trying to talk to him is a good way to make this _worse_.”  
  
“I wasn’t suggesting we _talk_ to him.” Steph said, cracking her knuckles. Tim looked unimpressed, which frankly impressed Jason a little. Stephanie was scary. Not Batman scary but-  
  
Hang on.  
  
“Hang on,” Jason said, holding his hand up for emphasis, “Batman is the only one who can bar someone from coming to Gotham.”  
  
“What the hell is your point, zombie boy?” Steph asked, crossing her arms.  
  
“We don’t need to redirect Dickies attention _back to Damian_. We just need to _redirect it_. To _someone_.” Jason grinned at them and it probably only looked about 30% insane. “Someone with the power to _stop him_.”  
  
Understanding dawned on Stephanie and Tim’s faces.  
  
“Someone who _deserves_ to have his clothes ruined,” Steph whispered reverently.  
  
“Someone who has _time_ to redecorate because he doesn’t have a job,” Tim added gleefully, “someone who flounces into board meetings too late and does _nothing_.”  
  
“Exactly.”

* * *

Tracking down Nightwing turned out to be the easiest thing they’d had to do so far. He didn’t even try to avoid them.  
  
“Hey guys!” N smiled cheerily at them as if he hadn’t spent the last two weeks putting them through some kind of Donna Reed inspired psychological torture.  
  
“Nightwing.” Red Robin greeted coldly and, yeah, in costume the replacement could totally pull off intimidating.  
  
“Whoa, what’s with the murder faces?” Nightwing said, stepping off the ledge he’d been standing on and walking closer.  
  
Hood crossed his arms.  
  
“You’ve been busy lately,” he commented and even the helmet couldn’t filter away the unvoiced insult at the end.  
  
“I guess?” N replied. “Did you like the brownies?”  
  
Hood tried to remember that they weren’t here to beat him senseless. Based on Spoiler’s clenched fists it seemed like he wasn’t the only one struggling with that.  
  
“N,” Red Robin said with the calm voice he usually reserved for interrogating suspects, “we _appreciate_ you trying to… _help_ us.” On “help us” Red’s voice broke through the calm and straight into “I’m going to kill you and bury you in store-brand decaf coffee” territory. “But we really are doing fine on our own.”  
  
Nightwing pursed his lips.  
  
“You are all working so hard-” he started, but Red cut him off.  
  
“Yes, and that’s why we appreciate it. But we’re actually worried about someone else, who needs your help a lot more than we do.”  
  
Nightwing paused and Hood could almost see the gears in his head whirring.  
  
“Who? Damian?”  
  
“Not Damian,” Red said, because they all knew it wouldn’t work to say it was Damian, “B.”  
  
Nightwing crossed his arms.  
  
“You think B needs help?”  
  
And here was the fragile part of their plan. Hood cleared his throat.  
  
“B,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil, “works himself to the bone and he doesn’t accept help from any of _us_.”  
  
“He has Alfie though,” N argued.  
  
“Alfie is busy taking care of Damian, since you’re not helping him as much anymore.” Spoiler rebutted. And _damn_ , blondie, good answer.  
  
“We struggle too,” Red said, “but we help each other, right guys?”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Spoiler agreed.  
  
“Right.” Hood lied, thankful that the helmet veiled his eyeroll.  
  
“You guys help each other out,” Nightwing said with obvious disbelief. “You.”  
  
“Red is always helping me with cases,” Spoiler said, “and studies and stuff too. And I help him with staying alive and acting like a human.”  
  
Red nodded.  
  
“And Red and I work together on cases,” Hood said truthfully.  
  
“And sometimes Hood makes sure I eat and stuff,” Red added, “and I help him with security.”  
  
“They also hang out and play video games and watch nerdy movies,” Spoiler revealed. The little snitch.  
  
“Really?” Nightwing said, looking between the three of them. “That’s great!” He shuffled around a little. “So, you guys don’t need me either, huh?”  
  
Oh god. Oh dear god it was the voice. The patented Richard Grayson sad-and-feeling-neglected voice. The voice that could inspire shame and guilt in the most hard boiled criminal. At least he was wearing the mask so he couldn’t give them the accompanying puppy eyes.  
  
“Well,” Spoiler said and Hood could see her wavering. She didn’t have the years of experience needed to withstand Dick’s manipulation.  
  
“But B does!” Tim exclaimed, dragging Spoiler to stand behind him. Good move.  
  
“And the little brat too, even though he doesn’t admit it.” Hood added.  
  
Nightwing bit his lip.  
  
“Look,” Red’s voice was genuine now, “we all really do appreciate it, but B and Dami need your help more. And frankly, the last time I saw B he looked dead on his feet. We’re all _good_. But he isn’t. He sleeps less than I do.”  
  
Maybe that was even true. Huh. Were they doing B a solid here?  
  
Wait, no. No they weren’t. It was recommended by _Martha_ , Dick you absolute menace.  
  
“Ok, I hear you.” N said solemnly. “I just wanted to help out.”  
  
Martha. Think about _Martha_.  
  
“We know,” Red said, patting N on the back. It was really awkward. “Did I tell you B has started eating power bars for dinner?”  
  
“Wait, seriously?” Nightwing looked disturbed. “That’s so bad for you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Hood said as if he hadn’t watched Red do that at least three dozen times, “he’s really setting a bad example for lil’ D, isn’t he?”  
  
He thought Red might have done the wave if he could have. Hood certainly wanted to give himself the wave for _that_ stroke of genius.  
  
“Okay, I know you guys are manipulating me,” Nighwing told them drily. Shit. “But you have a point.” Oh thank Jesus.  
  
N stretched.  
  
“Well,” he said, “I’m going to make sure B doesn’t kill himself. And yes, I’ll stop helping you guys.” He shook his head. “You three should really open up more, you know?”  
  
They nodded, because at this point they would do anything to make him stop “helping out”.  
  
Red cleared his throat.  
  
“So, good luck, uhm...”  
  
Nightwing grinned.  
  
“I’ll stop, but you all have to give me a hug before I leave.”  
  
Fuck.  
  
N pounced on Red like a jaguar on a gazelle, completely ignoring the scandalised (and very undignified) “meep” Red let out. Hood turned around, ready to make a run for it.  
  
“If you leave before a hug I’ll make you dinner next time!” Nightwing called cheerfully, still holding onto Red Robin like he was a life vest.  
  
Triple fuck.  
  
Hood sighed. The things you do to not have your living room secretly re-decorated.

* * *

As awful as it was to get cuddled by Nightwing, it was all worth it about a week later, when Tim climbed in through his living room window for their bi-weekly movie night. This week: when the great go bad- The Godfather 3, X-Men: The Last Stand, and Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions.  
  
“I see you got rid of the ruffles,” Tim remarked.  
  
“You didn’t see that on your stalker cam?”  
  
“I’ve been busy watching Bruce lately.”  
  
“Oh?” Jason prompted, putting the pizza boxes on the coffee-table.  
  
“He tried to call me five times today,” Tim said. He walked over and got two beers out of the fridge.  
  
Jason sniggered.  
  
“It’s that bad?”  
  
“He’s only got one target now. B is about to break.”  
  
“Tell me more, tell me more,” Jason said, making himself comfortable on his new -fucking stylish thank you very much -couch. “Like, did he do something to his car?”  
  
“I can’t believe you just made a Grease reference, you absolute nerd,” Tim commented flatly.  
  
“Musicals are cool,” Jason told him. Because it was true and he would fight anyone who said otherwise.  
  
“Was Olivia Newton John your childhood crush or something?”  
  
“Who’s to say it wasn’t Travolta?”  
  
Tim gave him a deadpan stare.  
  
“Because,” he said drily, “unlike Dick, you actually have taste.”  
  
Jason mulled that over.  
  
“Touché." He shrugged. "Now tell me about B.”  
  
Tim looked up from where he was connecting his computer to the TV and grinned sharply.  
  
“You want to experience what the Germans call ‘Schadenfreude’?”  
  
“Hell yeah I do.”  
  
Tim hit a key on his laptop and the Cave flickered into view on Jason’s TV. At least, he _thought_ it was the cave.  
  
“Is that?”  
  
“He re-decorated the cave.” Tim laughed. It was not a nice laugh. Jason approved.  
  
On the screen, Bruce had just entered through the door to the storage area and was making his way to the computer. Trailing after him with a plate of questionable looking sandwiches was Dick. Jason nabbed a beer from the coffee table and leaned back against the couch.  
  
“Oh we are _so_ watching this tonight. Sofia can wait.”  
  
“I made a compilation of the past week,” Tim said smugly, picking up the other beer and folding himself into Jason’s new armchair. It was beige and, most importantly, neither pea-green nor suede.  
  
On screen Bruce collapsed into his new, avant-garde office chair and put his head in his hands while Dick chatted pleasantly in his ear.  
  
“You know,” Tim said thoughtfully while Dick re-arranged Bruce’s files, “sometimes I think he’s being purposefully bad at this.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Oh just,” Tim reached for the pizza and Jason handed him the box, “whenever he starts doing this, we all have to interact with each other to make him stop. Like how you and I only started hanging out to begin with because he kept breaking into our safe houses to make ‘breakfast’. Well, that and that time he gave you a haircut in you sleep.”  
  
Jason stilled with his beer halfway to his mouth.  
  
“He…”  
  
Oh god.  
  
“That’s _totally_ what he’s doing isn’t it?”  
  
Tim looked at him over his slice of pepperoni.  
  
“Yeah, probably.”  
  
Jason slammed his bear down on the table.  
  
“THAT SNEAKY FUCKING BASTARD!”  
  
Jason glared at Tim, the _proof_ of Dick's successful manipulation. He didn't even _like_ the replacement. Why the hell was he hanging out with him? Stupid, meddling big brothers who ruin your _life_.  
  
"It's okay," Tim reached over and patted his hand, "I just confirmed that they're taking his cereal off the shelves this week."  
  
And yeah, that made it a little better, actually.  
  
"I still don't like you." He told Tim.  
  
"I know. Wanna watch Bruce find out that Dick redid his wardrobe?"  
  
"Yeah ok," Jason grumbled. Maybe, he admitted to himself only, the replacement wasn't all bad.  
  
The screen zoomed in on Bruce's expression as he came face to face with a sequined suit.  
  
Yeah, Jason thought, taking another sip of beer, not all bad. 


End file.
